


Transience

by lestradead



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lestradead/pseuds/lestradead
Summary: Life is a river that ebbs and flows; change is a regular occurrence in yours, but after the death of your father, the river has shifted into something more of an ocean whose cresting waves and crashing shores more appropriately encapsulate the way the world treats you thereafter.





	1. One Door Closes

It was exactly 03:31:44 in the morning when you were woken up by the sound of your phone going off. You were initially apprehensive of picking up the call when Leo's name swam in bold white letters in your sleep-induced haze, but as the third ring echoed in your empty bedroom, you thought to yourself, why in all hell would he be calling you at this godforsaken hour? Two possibilities came to mind as you slid the button to accept the call: it was either he had dialed you by accident (given the time it was, you could at least accept the excuse), or there was, you fear, an emergency.

As it turned out, it was the latter.

"You have to come- Dad, he- he's stopped breathing. I don't... I don't know what to do," Leo stammers into the receiver, his breathing ragged as inward sobs wrack his voice. "Markus called the paramedics, but... God, I need you here. Please."

Shadows begin to creep in your peripheral vision as your mind tries to comprehend what he just said, and you swallow down the anxiety that lumps in your throat as you reply with a simple 'I'm on my way' before setting your phone down. It's only now that you realize the tears that cascade down from your stinging eyes, and the fatigue that creeps slowly into your muscles as you drag yourself absentmindedly out of bed.

You glance at the mirror as you shrug into a raincoat, and your tired reflection stares back at you with bloodshot eyes and a forlorn expression you didn't know you were capable of having. Shaking your head, you decide not to dwell on it as you pull on your boots and step out into the chill of the melancholy night.

The cab ride to Carl's mansion was silent save for the quiet whir of the self-driving car's engine and the rain's constant downpour on its silver chassis. Your mind swims as drowsiness consumes your conscious. Leaning your head against the window, you watch the streetlights pass in a blur of motion, and the world is spinning, spinning, spinning.

-

"Thank God you're here," Leo whispers as you walk into the lounge. He barrels down the stairs and pulls you into a tight hug, his trembling fingers clasping onto your raincoat as if you were his last lifeline. You get rainwater on his clothes and the cold air would have been unbearable had it not been for his warmth, so you hug him back and pat his head as he sobs openly into your shoulder.

Carl's death was untimely, but inevitable. Leo had recently gotten clean after months in rehab, and though he's completely sworn off Red Ice, you can't help but worry that he might relapse after his father's ill-timed death, especially now that the only family he has left is you. The two of you aren't close by any means, but you sponsored his rehabilitation when Carl refused to place his trust in him that he won't just use the money on more of the life-threatening drug- but he's grown on you despite his shortcomings. He is your brother, after all. What else is more important than family?

The paramedics arrive shortly after you do, and Markus steps out of Carl's bedroom to welcome them in. They hastily march up the stairs with their clunky machines, and Leo pulls away from you to follow them. You plant your feet on the ground and watch as they disappear into the bedroom. A part of you wants to come with them, but you can't muster enough courage to face the lifeless cadaver of your now-late father. Not now.

Markus, thankfully, stays by your side as you crumple down onto the white couch, placing your head into your hands as you rub your face tiredly. He takes a seat next to you, places a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you graciously accept his comforting presence as you lean your head against him, wiping the rain and the tears and the pain from your cheeks with the sleeve of your jacket.

He says nothing and simply smooths calming circles on your back, and when you eventually stop crying, he peels your damp raincoat off of your shoulders and hangs it up on the rack near the front door, taking his time as he turns the thermostat up a few degrees to keep the lounge at a comfortable 68 degrees. You stare absentmindedly into space, playing with the hem of your sleeves as the hum of muffled conversation rumbles from within your father's room, and you do your best to block out every intrusive thought as you watch Markus return to his spot next to you.

"I'm here for you," he tells you, placing his hand on top of yours. You smile a little, grateful that androids are incapable of feeling pity or sadness, because the last thing you need right now is another reason to feel depressed; the tense, fragile string that holds together your composure so thin that a simple 'I'm sorry' would have made you break down into a pathetic weeping mess.

Having someone around makes you feel better. Even if he's just a robot.

You spare yourself the luxury of inspecting Markus’ visage now that you're in... intimate territory. His tan synthetic skin and emerald eyes look almost real under the dim light that sinks the room in a peaceful, sterile blue. You can't help but stare at the gentle curve of his lips, and, of course, he notices your sudden interest in his facial features (much to your chagrin). Tearing your eyes away with a shake of your head, you swallow thickly and pull your jacket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly feeling cold despite the room's warm temperature.

"Would you like me to get you anything, while we wait?" he asks. "A drink, something warm to eat, a moist towelette?"

You ponder for a moment. "Do we still have that bottle of whiskey Dad really liked?" you ask, looking up at him through your lashes just like you did when you were younger, when you used to ask your father for a shot of his alcohol, that it's okay, that mom won't know, that it's not a school day tomorrow anyway.

He always let you have a sip.

"Of course," Markus replies. "Black Label. Limited Edition." He gets up and nods at you. "I'll be right back."

The LED on his temple blinks red as he enters the kitchen, but you pass it off as faulty wiring and lean back against the couch with a quiet exhale, relieving the stress and tension that you've been keeping in your lungs for what felt like an eternity, even if it's just for a moment. You hear beeps and clicks and hums from Carl's room, and you bite your lip nervously as you wait for the final diagnosis.

Markus comes back with a tray. On top of it sits the vintage bottle of whiskey you had asked for, casting its amber refraction on the sleek black porcelain of the table, and you ogle at it for a moment to admire its colors before picking it up to unscrew the top and pour yourself a much needed shot.

The glass ball in the tip of the bottle clinks in its confines as it hinders you from pouring too much, and you grumble as you fill up the shotglass as slow as if you had been pouring molasses. They really took 'Drink Moderately' to a literal extent.

After enough frustration, however, you finally pour yourself a shotglassful of the golden liquid, and you immediately down it in one swig. Markus looks at you worriedly as you clutch the glass in your shaky fingers, your head bowed over the table as you let the drink wash over your senses and drown out the hurt that settles deep in your gut. It's light and airy and sweet but packs a punch as it burns down your throat, and in your mind you're a confused cocktail of pain and misery and warmth and relief.

One shot, you think to yourself, should last you the rest of the week.

You almost feel it rising back up to bite you in the ass, but you push the urge back down and slam your fist on the table, the tingling, minty aftertaste coating the back of your throat and warming you from the chest outwards. Markus seats himself next to you again and pats your back comfortingly as you cry into your crossed arms on the table, the whiskey doing nothing but remind you of the man who lays dead upstairs.

-

It is exactly 6:29:02 in the morning when you wake up in your childhood bedroom. Your boots have been removed from your feet and are now sitting pretty near the door, and your jacket has been stripped from your body leaving you in nothing but your sweatpants, a tank top, and the crushing realization that you completely slept through the paramedics collecting your father's body.

You lay there for a minute and stare at the ceiling, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars your parents glued onto the plywood surface to lull 8 year old you to sleep. Your cheeks are tacky with tears long dry, your muscles weak with exhaustion, and you watch as the sunlight streams in long glow lines on the floor, crawling across your bedspread through the half-closed blinds. The sheets are warm against your cold skin, but you soon leave the comfort of your nest to assess the aftermath of last night’s events.

“Good morning, Miss Manfred,” Markus greets you as you lumber into the kitchen. He’s frying a few eggs on the induction stove. “Leo’s left to arrange the papers.”

With a groan, you slide into a seat at the kitchen table and rub the sleep out of your eyes. “I’m the lawyer in this family, shouldn’t I be doing all that crap?” you wonder out loud, leaning your cheek against a fist as you prop your elbows on the table.

Markus chuckles a little. “He saw how tired you were last night,” he says, scooping the eggs onto a plate, “and volunteered to do it himself. I think it was quite selfless.”

The thin black fabric of his shirt rides up as he reaches up for a mug from the cupboard overhead, and you feel yourself flush as you catch a glimpse of the skin of his hip, hugged tight by the garter of his low-riding sweats. You tear your eyes away and clasp your hands together as he places your breakfast in front of you.

“I’ve called your firm and told them you’d be on leave for the next two weeks.” Markus pours you a glass of water. “On Leo’s orders.”

“Thank you, Markus,” you murmur. “I don’t think I have the energy for any of that right now.”

He gives you a nod and steps back, folding his arms behind his back in his usual idle fashion. You push around your eggs on your plate. A few minutes of silence pass as you scroll through the news on your phone.

“Carl’s gone, Markus,” you tell him solemnly as you set your mobile aside. “Are you... going back? To CyberLife?”

His LED blinks as he thinks. “I don’t know,” he says, admittedly. “Your father mentioned handing me down to you, but nothing’s set in stone until we see his last will.”

Your shove a forkful of bacon into your mouth and grumble. "I never liked the prospect of 'owning' an android."

Markus quirks a questioning brow at you. "Why not?"

"I don't know." A slice of the egg goes into your mouth. "It just feels weird. It's basically like owning a person. Even if you guys don't... you know. Feel. Emotions. Or need to eat. Or anything any other organic life form needs to do to survive."

You can't quite read his expression, but you see his LED blink again. "We were produced to carry out tasks. Think of us more as... assistants."

"But that's my problem." You take a gulp of water. (You hadn't realized how thirsty you were until now.) "I don't need help. I have a PA at work. Why would I make someone do things I could just do myself?"

"To improve the quality of life," he explains briefly. "Especially the disabled, the elderly, the single parents..."

"I get that.” You sigh. "But I'm not any of those. I'm a physically capable adult with no kids. The only thing that stresses me out is work, and even then, it barely takes any toll on anything but my mind. Not to offend you or anything, Markus, but I don't really... need you."

You lock eyes with Markus, but he doesn't give you an answer.

-

The rest of the day is spent in almost complete silence as you loaf around in front of the television, evading all of the news channels to avoid seeing reports about Carl's death. Markus stands vigilant behind you in the darkness, and eventually around mid-afternoon you get fed up with having him linger around you like a creep.

"C'mere, Markus," you say, motioning for him to come forward. "Sit next to me. I'm feeling kinda lonely."

He obeys wordlessly and seats himself to your left at a respectful distance. You feel a little bad about what you said earlier... but he seems to be aloof as usual. Switching to a channel broadcasting Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2, you let the movie serve as background noise as you wriggle closer to the android next to you.

“Hey,” you murmur, almost shoulder to shoulder with him. “Sorry about earlier. I was kinda harsh with my words.”

Markus is warm, and you feel him shift closer. He places an arm around your shoulder and you instinctively lean your head against his, placing a hand gently on his knee as you pout apologetically.

“It’s okay,” he assures you, rubbing your arm comfortingly. “Humans are fickle creatures, after all.”

You laugh. “Thanks. For being here.”

He pauses, and you see his light flicker red for a moment when you tilt your head up to look at him. What is that supposed to mean? Is he low on power or something? It’s been happening a lot lately, and it’s been irking you that you can’t quite figure out the reason why.

Quietly, you pull away from Markus’ arm and turn to your side to look at him properly. He’s staring blankly at the TV, though you’re not completely convinced that he’s at all engrossed by the movie currently being broadcast on the thin glass screen.

"Markus?" You wave a hand in front of his face to catch his attention. "Yoo-hoo. Anyone in there?"

Markus snaps his head to look at you, his eyes peering into yours, and for only a split second you swear he looked... human. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, drawing his arm back in shyly. “I... spaced out.”

Androids can space out? You shoot him an incredulous look, but you decide not to ask any further, instead opting for awkward silence in lieu of meaningful conversation. For the next few painfully tense minutes, you and Markus simply watch the TV without saying a word to each other.

“I have a confession to make,” he says suddenly. You turn to look at him but you find him still looking straight forward, his back ramrod straight with his hands in fists on his knees. If he was going to tell you something you that warrants such an intense buildup, you’d assume that he’d at least have the common decency to look at you, but what he says next completely throws you off.

“I think I’m- how do I say this. In love with you.”

Huh. That was abrupt. You continue to look at him, but he refuses to return the gaze. His LED is a stable bright red, and he looks almost dead with how inanimately still he’s being- to which you decide to look away as not to confuse yourself any more than you already are.

“I’m sorry,” you start, placing your fingertips gently on your forehead. “Did I... hear that right?”

Markus says nothing for a moment, then turns towards you calmly and finally, finally looks at you face to face. He dons a blank expression as usual, but you see a glint in his eyes that only adds to the unnatural and quite frankly unnerving nature of his...

Deviancy.

“Yes,” comes his reply. “I am riddled with... unnecessary emotions. I’m not quite sure how to explain it.”

You feel like you're in a fever dream, but you'd be lying if you say you don't return the feelings, even if it's just a minuscule amount. To be enamored to such a degree by, of all things, an android; to have feelings for something that supposedly cannot feel- makes your head spin.

“Okay, let’s-” You smooth a hand tiredly over your face. Can someone pinch you? It must be a dream, right? “Let’s... take a moment, and...”

“I know you feel the same,” he says, and you feel your heartbeat quicken at his words. Of course he can tell. "Can you confirm?"

You look away from him, grinding your teeth as you try to make as much space between you and him without making it obvious that you are becoming increasingly uncomfortable with having to come to terms with your feelings for the android sitting just across. Markus notes your discomfort and draws back, giving you space to think, space to breathe.

So what if you're in love with him? So what if he's an android? He's just recently proven that he is capable of feeling the same way humans do. Markus would never lie to you.

What's the difference, really, that while humans are red and androids are blue, in the end, you all bleed?

Your head starts pounding. You remember reading articles about deviancy during moments of respite from work, of cases concerning androids disobeying orders, committing crime, falling in love. You remember the one thing that was common among all the mugshots- every convict or suspect had removed the LED on their temple to make themselves indistinguishable when in a human crowd. Then you look back at Markus.

"I know what you are."

He narrows his eyes, as if surveying your expression, your vitals, your very soul. His light flickers red again. "What am I?"

"You're..." you begin, almost breathless. "A deviant."

Markus sucks his cheeks in, looking at his lap, and lets your words hang in the air for a moment- though you know he knows. He's known for a while. It's just now that he's had it said out loud at him.

"It seems that that's the case," he says. You look up at him and he looks back at you, his eyes glimmering with fear, with hope. You've never seen him so vulnerable.

The decision you make now will determine the rest of this android's, and to an extent, your own life.

Will you turn him in as one of the countless cases of deviancy among androids; a moral obligation as a messiah of the law? Or will you follow your heart and keep his faults a secret from society, from the very establishment that you've dedicated years of your life to serving?

The decision does not come easy.

But you know what you have to do.


	2. Another One Opens

Markus sits on the edge of the bathtub and tracks his eyes on you as you rummage through the medicine cabinet for a pair of tweezers. You push aside the various orange pill bottles that Carl had neglected over the years, and the dust collects on your fingertips as you pull out a pink tray containing old, well-kept, and well-used beauty tools your mother owned when she used to leave for exhibits with your father. The tweezers sit unused at the very bottom of the pile of various apparatus, and you shuffle around the brushes and pencils to fish it out.

You bump your knees against Markus' as you shuffle forward, trying to find an angle at which you don't expose too much of yourself (your decolletage, in particular) to his ever-watchful eyes. Eventually, you settle in with one leg between his, using his knee to leverage yourself as you hold his head steady with one hand, and the tweezers with the other.

"Now be still," you warn him, tilting his head gingerly to the side. "I don't want to fuck this up."

Markus blinks in understanding, leaning his head ever so slightly against the curve of your palm. You take the tweezers and lightly dig under the skin around his LED, pinching the small, coin-sized disc in between the two tongs, and pull. The tracker comes out fairly easily (though you expected it to resist at least a little bit), and you drop it on the flat edge of the sink with a tiny clink. It blinks a few times. Then it dies.

The grafted patch around the area you had just worked on starts glowing neon blue, and you watch as the synthetic skin fills in the exposed exoskeleton of his skull. A little gross, you admit. There’s just something slightly off-putting about seeing skin, artificial or otherwise, quite literally crawl. It makes you shiver. You've seen worse, however, and it's much cleaner than a normal operation on say, a human. Markus seems unfazed, relieved, even.

"How do you feel?" you ask, putting the tweezers away. Markus touches his temple gently, feeling around the now-smooth area where his LED used to be.

"Vitals system checking." He blinks. "Cognitive core unit, functional. Pump regulator, functional. Thirium volume, one hundred percent, functional."

You smile a little, leaning against the sink with your arms folded across your chest. Markus gets up from the bathtub and walks over to stand in front of the mirror, his wide, sturdy figure casting a dark shadow as he towers above you. For a split second you fear he’s about to pass out (Shut down? Restart?), resulting in you getting crushed by his heavy frame, but instead he braces himself on the sink and leans down to slot his face gently on the curve of your neck.

He breathes deeply and you gasp in surprise, your hands going up to clutch at his biceps as he chuckles quietly into your skin.

"My sensory dampeners have been turned off," he explains, touching his fingertips to your jaw as you breathe shakily. "I can actually... feel."

Slowly, he drags his lips from your neck to your collarbone, to your jaw, and to your forehead. "Soft," he says simply.

You cover your face with your hands, your skin flushing under the intense pressure, the embarrassment, the flattery, and Markus only chuckles as he pulls away. Through your fingers you watch as he presses his back against the tiled bathroom wall, smirking smugly.

“I apologize,” he says. “I was only curious.”

Curiosity, huh. You didn’t think androids were capable of the pursuit of knowledge. Surprises have been coming at you left and right all day, but you’re not quite sure what to make of everything you’ve found out so far in the meager span of a mere 2 hours. What, truly, separates man from machine, if the craving to learn is present all the same?

Your head starts pounding again.

-

“You are aware that harboring a deviant is against the law, right?” Markus asks as you scroll through your laptop for articles concerning the topic he had just mentioned. You roll your eyes.

“I’m a lawyer, Markus? Of course I do?” You turn on the kitchen stool to look at him. “You know, for an android, you’re kind of an airhead sometimes.”

“Just making sure.”

Under the muted fluorescence of the single kitchen light, Markus looks so legitimately human that it almost scares you. From outside, light rays stream through the circular window, forming a ring around his head as it eclipses over the sunset, tracing his silhouette its gentle glow- a halo. Deep shadows form in the creases and dips of his skin; below his brow, his philtrum, under the sharp edge of his jaw. You can’t help but stare. He can’t help but stare back. For a moment, just a moment, all is still.

You shake yourself out of your reverie and turn back towards the computer. With the dangerous circumstances of your current situation, you simply cannot afford to get caught hiding what is basically a fugitive running from the law. One slip of the tongue and you can get Markus killed.

The rest of the day you spend reading page after page of what you had initially thought to be research about the nature of android deviancy, though after digging through professional theses and dissertations and essays for hours on end, it’s easy to conclude that no one has any idea of what causes it, or what to do about it other than resort to deactivation. Most articles you read are cautionary tales of the dangers of having a disobedient humanoid supercomputer, but is a list of Dos and Donts really enough to sow worry in the minds of unsuspecting owners? Or is it the addition of the underlying fear that humankind has invented sentient life?

You think.

Why does God hide from what he’s created?

-

 **ENTRY 0043: RE: Android Deviancy - rA9**  
**February 16, 2038**  
Dr. Patricia Tannis

_after a long battle of constant haggling with the ex ceo of cyberlife elijah kamski i've been given special access to archived reports and information about android deviancy._

[External image - click to open.]  
[External image - click to open.]  
[External image - click to open.]

_here's what they don't show you on the news- the deviants seem to obsessively worship an entity they call **rA9** , as you can see in the images above. we have yet to find out what this means, or if this rA9 person... android... thing. is even real._

_case 1 - warden android, model ax400, serial number 403-231-949, product name carla. deactivated 2036-16-4. murdered its owner with a broken beer bottle. carved **rA9** in laser-precise print on the floor next to owner's dead body. below reads **I AM ALIVE**. no trial._

_case 2 - education android, model zx900, serial number 200-129-322, product name cecil. deactivated 2036-24-7. philosophy professor. began spreading android rights propaganda throughout various classes in the quiet campus of michigan state university. upon searching his office (no warrant!), the dpd found seven journals filled with lines and lines reading **rA9**. nothing else. trial scheduled on 2036-16-7. found guilty._

_case 3 - entertainment android, model nb000, serial number 670-231-376, product name max, deactivated 2036-25-8. talk show host on channel 7. arranged a mutiny of android employees to protest peacefully outside the studio. fists raised, **rA9** written in bold dark letters on their forearms. all androids shot on sight. no trial._

_going by the evidence that we have now, there are several theories that stem from what we know, though none are confirmed even after vigorous questioning of suspected androids. after reviewing some interrogation tapes, i noticed that all interviewees refuse to reveal any information about rA9, its meaning, or its origin. some even turn hostile when asked._

_more on this as we dig deeper. will update soon._

-

As the sun begins to set, you leave your perch at the table to find Markus, who has abandoned the kitchen to take care of chores around the mansion. Yes, he may be a deviant, but his duty to the household still stands. It figures; androids tend to seek out the comfort of sterility, regardless of whether or not it's the purpose of their production. With Markus, however, as a companion android to an elderly man whose career had netted him what is basically a museum of his work, it is only natural that he'd want to keep the place clean and spiffy. Caretaker. House-cleaner. Errand boy. Whatever you'd like to call him.

You find Markus in the master bedroom, mulling over a framed photograph on the bedside table. His back is turned towards you. A lone orange lamp sits in front of him, outlining his motionless figure, and for the second time today, everything seems to have stopped.

"He was like a father to me, you know," he murmurs quietly, skimming his fingertips over the edge of the picture frame. "And I, a son to him."

Carl's room smells like rubbing alcohol and resin. You feel like you're 8 again. You realize the consequences of your recklessness. You don't remember the last thing your father had told you before he passed away. You don't remember the last time you had the opportunity to hug him. To hold his hand. To comfort him in his greatest time of need. Guilt twists in your gut like a parasite.

You are... crying.

"I miss him," you say out loud, voice cracking as droplets of salty tears fall at your feet like the first drizzle of rain on a cold November morning.

You look up at the ceiling, as if the pristine white tiles could assuage the deep set sorrow that settles in your heart.

"I'm sorry, dad," you tell the air.

But there was no answer.

-

It is exactly 6:21:03 in the evening when you find yourself in Markus' arms, the two of you lying comfortably across the couch with your limbs tangled and clothes disheveled, you having only recently woken up while he kept a watchful eye out as you snoozed in his soft embrace.

"Wha happa?" you ask groggily, your heavy eyelids threatening to fail you yet again. "I... uh. Sleepy."

Markus laughs, and his chest rumbles against yours as he pulls you closer. "You only slept for an hour. Don't worry."

You blink a few times and curl your fingers into the satin fabric of his shirt. An anchor to pull you back down to earth. To make sure you're still real. Still here.

Markus is warm, and even as he lacks the heartbeat of a normal human, you nevertheless close your eyes to enjoy his company, his closeness, his tender gaze.

You fall asleep again.


	3. Turning Point

The next day, you wake up with a blanket over your shoulders and a crippling need to consume something before you die of hunger. Thankfully, you find that Markus had already cooked you breakfast, a plate of scrambled eggs on toast with a side of sausages and a steaming mug of lemongrass tea, all sitting nice and pretty on the glasstop kitchen table. Underneath the plate lays a card that you pull out and read as you sip your drink.

_eat well. i’ll be back before lunchtime._   
_-markus_

You smile to yourself as you turn the card over in your fingers, admiring Markus’ pristine handwriting in dark black ink, not single stroke of his script out of place. Setting the card back down on the placemat, you seat yourself and proceed to devour your breakfast like an unfed lion, feral and unapologetic. Delicious, as always; Markus has always cooked to Carl's taste, and it comes as no surprise to you that you share the same palate.

As you're finishing the final crumbs of your toast, you hear the door slide open downstairs and the sound of footsteps approaching as they ascend the wooden staircase. The gait, you note, isn't Markus', however- too slow, less methodical, and your mind wanders to the only one other person with access to the mansion.

Leo. You've almost completely forgotten about him.

"Leo," you greet him, peeking your head out of the doorway to the kitchen. "Welcome home. You want some juice?"

He grimaces at you. The last two days have been hard on him, and if his tired visage isn't enough indication to go by, then the ruffled hair underneath his beanie and his creased clothing makes it even more evident.

"You seem awfully... chipper." He pushes past you and enters the kitchen unceremoniously, almost knocking your glass out of your hand. "You know Dad just died two nights ago, right?"

The tension wraps tight around your neck. "I know, Leo. It's just as hard on me as it is on you."

"Then why am I the one doing everything, huh?" he yells. When he turns to face you, the red veins around his puffy eyes do not escape your scrutiny. " _I'm_ the one arranging the funeral, _I'm_ the one spending hours at the morgue looking at his fucking corpse, _I'm_ the one reviewing the autopsy, I'm the one settling his last will, and you're just sitting around at his goddamn house, getting comfy with his fucking robot, and enjoying everything he's left you!"

Had you been a couple of decades younger, this would be the exact moment that you'd break down into tears. Leo has always been... aggressive. You back away from him slowly like a doe in the sharp eyes of a tiger, gauging your every action with a precision borne of familiarity. Just like when you were younger. Except this time, you don't have your father to discourage Leo from going through with his violent tendencies, and nothing to protect yourself with but the look of fear, your pleading eyes, and a faint shred of hope that he won't just outright murder you in cold blood.

"I-I'm sorry, Leo, but please calm down," you almost beg, holding your hands up in submission. You have to pick your words carefully. One mistake could land a kitchen knife through your heart. "Can we talk about this like adults, please?"

Leo moves swiftly, his fingers around your neck like the talons of a hawk diving for its prey, and you feel the air leave your lungs as he slams you against the wall, almost lifting you off the ground with the brute strength of his pure, unbridled rage. From up close, you can smell the reek of alcohol emanating off of his clothes. You can't breathe. Can't do anything but claw fruitlessly at the hand that holds you still.

"Shut up, you goddamn _bitch_ ," he spits at you, gritting his teeth so hard you can almost hear his jaw pop. "One more word out of you and I swear won't see the light of day again."

Not like you can speak at all. His tight grip on your throat inhibits you from uttering another word, so instead you choke dryly and blink at him as if to implore his forgiveness, tears of pain, of hurt streaming down your cheeks as your vision begins to wane.

Just as you feel you're about to pass out, the vice around your neck disappears and you cough, faltering on your feet for only a brief moment before you crumple onto the floor, gasping desperately for air. Through the blur of your tears and semi-consciousness, you see two pairs of feet from where you're lying motionlessly on the ground, but you miss the commotion that follows suit as you completely black out.

-

A migraine pulses through your head as you wake up feeling like you've gone through seven hells and back. With how badly your week has been going so far, such a statement wouldn't be far from the truth.

Markus watches over you on a chair that he's pulled up next to your bed, wringing a damp towel over a basin. You try to sit up, but your deathly headache pulls you back down with a wince.

"Markus," your slur quietly, blindly reaching for him. His hand finds yours and he squeezes your fingers comfortingly, letting you know that you're still alive, still breathing. "W... What happened?"

Your half-lidded eyes catch his lips curl into a sneer. "Leo," he answers. "Got... violent."

"Where is he?" you ask worriedly. He dabs at the tender skin around your neck with the towel, its soft fabric and cool touch easing the pain, if only on a physical level. Thank the heavens Markus is with you. God knows where you'd be without him.

"Let's say I've, ahem, incapacitated him for the time being." He dips the towel back into the basin. "Nothing to worry about. I will speak with him after I'm done caring for you."

"I have to talk to him," you say, furrowing your brow. He remains silent. "Please, Markus."

He sighs, folding the towel over the lip of the basin.

"Alright." His gaze softens when he turns to you, and he takes a moment to brush stray locks of your hair out of your eyes. "But I have to be with you, especially after what happened this morning. I can't let that bastard hurt my girl again."

The pet name catches you off guard, and you feel yourself flush under his gentle regard. He grins. You giggle. Stupidly, and girlishly. It's like high school all over again.

"I'm 'your girl' now, huh?" you quip playfully, smirking up at him. He nods.

"Thought you'd appreciate being referred to as such." Markus brushes his thumb against your cheek, fingertips dancing feather-light across your jaw. "You seemed to like it."

"I did." You wrap your fingers loosely around his wrist. "It's cute. You're cute."

Markus dusts a chaste kiss on your forehead. You close your eyes, his lips lingering a moment too long, and drift off to sleep again.

-

At approximately 2:22:35 in the afternoon, Markus leads you down a hallway, your bare feet dragging along the gray velvet that lines the floor, and you follow closely behind the android as you inspect some of the portraits that line the adjacent walls. Some of them you recognize as family. Others as royalty. Others you don't recognize at all.

You stop at a door at the end of the hallway that you recognize to be Carl's study before he lost use of both his legs, a place you would often retire to after school or on the weekends to relax with your father. It smells like old books and Indian ink, but the memories barely register in your mind as you hear a muffled cry and a distant clunk of wood, as if someone was struggling somewhere in the darkness. The curtains are drawn, blocking out the sunlight, but you still feel a chill breeze that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand in unease.

Markus flips the lights on and you see Leo bound on a chair behind Carl's desk, tight rope bracing his torso against the backrest. His mouth is taped shut, but that doesn't stop him from rambling unintelligibly from behind his confines. You kind of pity him.

The air is heavy with silence as he pants heavily through his nose, chest heaving against his restraints. Markus steps forward and rips the tape off of his mouth.

"Ow, fuck!" he snaps, eyes screwing shut at the pain. "That fuckin' hurt, you piece of shit!"

Markus says nothing. You take this moment to step forward, hugging your arms to yourself as you eye your brother carefully.

"I'm sorry for not reaching out to you, Leo," you say. "I thought you had it all sorted out..."

"I _did_. But that's not my problem now." His eyes dart towards Markus, leering. The chair screeches against the floor as he struggles again. "It's this piece of plastic right here that's getting me all suspicious."

Your heart starts beating wildly, and you turn to Markus for support. He looks straight ahead, his arms folded behind his back, but somehow he seems... nervous.

“Why’s that?” you ask Leo. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“Nothing wrong with him?” Leo practically screams. “Nothing wrong with him? Are you hearing yourself? That... that thing just attacked me! Androids are supposed to be obedient slaves, and nothing else. This shit ain’t right. You have to give him back.”

A small surge of anger flares through your chest. "I can't just give him back, Leo. He's in my possession, right?"

Leo pauses, squinting at you. "Yeah. But that makes no difference. I can't have this glorified roomba creeping around my little sister like some sort of douche. He's making me feel nervous, acting without being told to and all that crap..."

You swallow thickly, watching as Leo comes to an epiphany.

"Wait..." He looks at Markus, then at you. "Don't tell me..."

"Leo, whatever it is you're thinking, you're wrong."

He shoots Markus an accusatory look and turns his weary eyes towards you.

"You're not telling me you plan on letting this... _monster_ live, are you?"

Folding your arms defensively across your chest, you give him a frown and a scoff. "You can't tell me what to do. Not anymore. Markus is completely fine, and he's a lot less difficult to have around, unlike you."

"You've seen what these machines are capable of. He could kill you if he wanted to." Leo slumps forward. His eyes darken, and his voice drops to a hush. "This is illegal. The police'll find out once they search this place out for Dad's old stuff."

"Then I'll be sure to hide him from them. Easy. I've got it all figured out."

"The thing doesn't even have its old spinny light thing on its head anymore," your brother remarks, shaking his head and smiling as if he's got you cornered. "You could barely tell it's an android anymore. They'll be looking for him, too. To finalize the papers on, you know, handing him down."

You berate yourself for acting so foolishly. It should've been so obvious... yet you went too far too fast. As if your hopes and dreams would get dashed otherwise. In your head you see the LED sitting dead and abandoned on the bathroom sink. A mistake. A spur-of-the-moment decision. Still, you stand your ground, pushing out all negative possible outcomes out of your head. Be prepared, and there is no need to get prepared.

The next moment passes in a blur of motion. Leo had somehow fished a pocket knife out of his blazer and managed to cut through the rope binding him to the chair. Time seems to pass by in slow motion as you watch him zip past you, frantically making a beeline for the door.

"Seeya, suckers, I'm calling the police, and you're going to get jailed, and _I'm_ going to inherit all of Dad's-"

Leo falls onto the ground, and a loud thud resonates through the empty house.

Your ears are ringing.

As you turn around, you find yourself face to face with the smoking muzzle of a freshly-fired SIG Sauer, held firmly in place by Markus' unwavering grip.


End file.
